


fidelitas

by theseourbodies



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Class Differences, Episode: s04e05 His Father's Son, Gen, i love one (1) confused dad friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:00:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24290950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theseourbodies/pseuds/theseourbodies
Summary: "It's heavy," Merlin mutters.
Relationships: Leon & Merlin (Merlin)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 193





	fidelitas

**Author's Note:**

> set immediately pre-ep

Arthur says to Leon, “Go and check on him, will you? Make sure he’s got everything on properly; he’s going to need to be able to move freely,” and Leon understands that this means, _Go so that I don’t have to think further on this dangerous thing I am asking of him._

So Leon goes, calling out quietly at the closed tent flap Merlin had disappeared through fifteen minutes earlier. Merlin responds with a loud sort of noise, which Leon correctly assumes is permission to enter. The chainmail shirt still hangs down to his knees, unbelted; Leon has caught him with his belt ignobly clamped between his teeth as Merlin jumps and shuffles, trying to settle his trousers under the mail. The indignity of the whole scene has a certain charm—Leon is forcibly reminded of Gwaine turning himself all in circles trying to tie his own ties and buckle all his buckles, too. But that is Leon the man being charmed. Sir Leon of Orlean, First Knight of the cohort, can’t help but frown. 

He regrets it instantly. Merlin pulls the belt from his mouth quickly and settles before Leon with uncharacteristically stiff shoulders. He goes red to the ears and Leon goes to him, eager to ease the shame. 

“It’s difficult to do on your own, isn’t it?” Leon asks quietly, settling the mail shirt with a few tugs without asking permission. He won’t humiliate Merlin further by forcing the man to ask for assistance. 

Merlin flashes him a smile—there and gone too quickly. “I thought it would be easier, since I’ve done it so often for—for other people.” 

Leon just nods and allows himself to fall into the rhythm of outfitting a knight that had been pounded into his bones when Leon had been just a squire who barely came to his then-knight master’s shoulder. It’s strange to do this for another man as a blooded knight himself; stranger still to be able to look down at the top of the man’s head as he does it. 

Merlin is blessedly still after the first few attempts to help Leon get everything tied together faster. He raises his arms at Leon’s quiet request and holds them out with only the barest tremble. 

“It’s heavy,” Merlin mutters, embarrassed to be caught in some weakness. 

“It is the nation, and its power upon you and within your grasp,” Leon responds instantly, voice low and weighted. The response is as well-remembered as the process of putting a man in armor—ah, but he is not talking to a knight, now. 

“Sir Leon--?” 

“Apologies; it is a traditional question and response for preparing squires before their knighting ceremony.” 

“Oh,” Merlin says quietly. Then, “What are the other questions?” 

Something in Leon bristles at the question, something old that had been bred in him at his noble father’s knee. This is not for Merlin to know. It is not for anyone to know except those who have earned the right. Leon has unlearned many things during Arthur’s regency and then his kingship, but this is a step too far. 

“Leon,” Merlin leans forward to look into Leon’s downturned face, “You don’t need to tell me if it’s secret. Especially if it’s got to do with the knighthood.” He grins when Leon blinks stupidly at him, abruptly caught out. 

Embarrassed, Leon goes back to his work. It’s as strange as ever to be so well seen by a man who, by all propriety, ought to never look Leon in the eye, never speak without being spoken to first. But this man is not ordinary; the trials Arthur has faced, he has faced also. All the places that Arthur has gone, so too has Merlin gone.

“One more piece,” Merlin tells him kindly, offering the red cape to Leon so they can get it settled around Merlin’s shoulders together. Merlin ties it closed at the neck, and Camelot’s colors settle around his shoulders in a bright familiar drape. The red and the gold; not colors that Uther had favored, but Arthur’s colors. Chosen first for himself, and then arranged for the palace guard and the knights of the cohort—Arthur’s knights from the day he was old enough to take over their training and selection. It was the uniform of service and Leon abruptly realizes that he’s let his pride get the best of him again. 

“It’s a ceremony,” he blurts as Merlin settles himself under the unfamiliar weight. Merlin freezes and blinks huge eyes at him. 

“It’s a formal instruction from the Frist Knight to squires as their being armed before their knighting ceremony with the king,” Leon continues, softer now. “The squires are instructed by their knight masters to ask certain questions, and the First Knight gives the responses. Why is it heavy, my lord; what keeps the edge keen, my lord; why do we serve; why do we live,” he says, barely whispering over the familiar questions. 

Merlin watches him quietly, patiently. In the passive light from the sun coming through the tent sides, he looks very solemn and sharp. 

“When I was first knighted, the First Knight instructed me; now, I do the same for all new knights.” 

“Gwaine never mentioned it.” And Gwaine, of all the newest knights would be the one to talk about it, Leon deduces without anger.

“I did not instruct Gwaine, Elyan, Percival or—or Lancelot in this way,” he says, answering the implied question. “It felt—” Leon twitches the edge of the cape to lie smooth, then helps Merlin adjust the empty sword belt. “—It felt wrong, to attempt to instruct them when they had already proved their honor and their courage tenfold; when they were already blooded knights by Arhtur’s own decree.” Time was, Leon wouldn’t have bothered to explain this to a peasant man, a servant. But Merlin was Arthur’s man whether he was knighted or not; he had proven himself honorable as thoroughly as any of the men Leon counted as his closest companions now. Leon’s had to learn new truths as he unlearned the old ones. 

“Thank you,” says Merlin. Leon bows his head, but Merlin catches him before Leon can step away. “And… And I think you should consider instructing them, even if they’ve already been knighted,” Merlin says all in a rush. “I think they would like to know what you wished to tell them.” 

For such a skinny fellow, Merlin was sometimes capable of such gravity it boggled the mind. Leon was left staring. 

“Just something to think about,” Merlin finishes firmly. He sweeps past Leon and out of the tent, his cape swinging proudly behind him. Leon catches him looking back, backlit by the sun; Merlin grins at him suddenly and then disappears. 

The red and the gold, the silver of the mail; the uniform of Leon’s long service looks right at home on the shoulders of a servant, he thinks. They look right on Merlin. The knights kick up a fuss on the other side of the closed tent flap when Merlin comes into view—Leon hears his king pitch in and he finds that he’s grinning himself. He carefully adjusts his own armor and steps out after his master’s servant, his own friend.


End file.
